Perception
by Osidiano
Summary: Written for the pw kinkmeme. Apollo and Klavier discuss the possibility of starting a family and having children.


Disclaimer/Notes: I do not own Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. They belong to Capcom, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (duh) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. This story contains slash (Apollo/Klavier), some slight cursing, and is **unbeta'd**. Also, I don't speak any German, and would like to apologize for any mangling of that poor, innocent little language. Enjoy.

**Perception**

"Let's have a baby."

Those words froze the young defense attorney in his spot, hand tightening convulsively on the refrigerator door handle. This was not a good way to start a lazy Saturday morning. Apollo kept his head down behind the open appliance door, and pretended to be completely engrossed in reorganizing last night's leftovers. The speaker let him fidget and fiddle and move the plastic containers around, and seemed perfectly willing to give him all the time in the world to come up with a response. Apollo sighed, and pulled the milk out, setting it on the counter and letting the door fall shut at last. He kept his back to his companion as he poured himself a glass.

"You mean, like. . .adopt?"

"Nein, mein liebe, I don't think that I'd want that," the blond shook his head, a thoughtful expression on his face as he cast blue eyes up to the ceiling. Apollo snuck a glance over one shoulder just in time to see the older man pull a chair out—the wooden legs scraping noisily on the tiles—and take a seat at the kitchen table. He flashed that broad, winning smile at him, propping his elbows up and leaning forward to rest his chin on interlocking fingers. Apollo felt an uneasy tension settle in his shoulders. What did the other mean by not wanting to adopt, anyway? Adoption wasn't so bad, and Apollo knew from personal experiences that California needed more good homes to send kids to.

"We're both _guys_, Klavier," Apollo reminded the prosecutor gently, taking a drink of his milk and pointedly looking out the small window over the kitchen sink. It was bright and sunny and carefree, and too damn early in the morning for this kind of serious talk. Not that Klavier ever managed to sound serious about anything unrelated to his band or criminal cases. Apollo didn't think that anyone should have to explain the anatomical impossibilities of two grown men having children before eating breakfast. "And boys can't have babies."

"Well, as meine fraulein would say, 'science is truly amazing,'" the rock star sounded thrilled with the prospect. Had Ema really put some kind of crazy, male-pregnancy idea into his foppish head? As if reading his mind, Klavier elaborated. "I was thinking test tubes and Petri dishes, and a surrogate to carry, of course. Your cases never bring in much, I know, but we are in a stable financial state, and could afford to raise a child. Besides, we have good genes, ja? It would be a crime not to; we'd make cute babies."

Apollo choked, sputtering on his milk. Klavier just raised a brow questioningly and waited for the younger man to recover.

"We're not ready for kids," Apollo replied as quickly as he could. He put the milk away, and decided that if Klavier was going to say things like that, he had better wait to finish that glass or he might just die before being able to tell him that this whole scheme of his was ridiculous. This was one of the perks of being a gay man: he did not want to have to worry about having kids.

"Was ist der problem, mein liebe?" Klavier sat back in his chair, arms opening wide as he gestured broadly. "I am ready to start a family."

"I'm not ready. I don't want to have kids."

"You will warm up to the idea! Give it some time."

"_No_, Klavier," Apollo said firmly, glaring at his. . .fellow homosexual? Boyfriend? They weren't married now, and probably wouldn't ever get married, even if the law would allow it. Their relationship was something of a secret, much to Klavier's disappointment, albeit a badly kept one at that. Apollo did not think that they needed people questioning their professional conduct based on what they did behind closed doors, and they had agreed to leave their feelings for each other at the beginning of each case and pick it up when it was over. Did that arrangement have any affect on what they were to each other? Apollo was having some difficulty getting his head around the semantics of this situation: they were talking about reproducing and having little sci-fi clone things running around their house. Did boyfriends usually talk about that sort of thing? Was this the next step in their relationship, an ugly initiation into becoming life partners? Apollo hoped not. "This isn't like getting a puppy or a new motorcycle. Kids are a big responsibility and I just don't think that we're mature enough to—"

"I am twenty-seven, Apollo, not seventeen," Klavier interrupted, returning the glare in full force. Apollo faltered and went silent, not wanting to look the blond in the eye. Dealing with the prosecutor when he was angry was never a pleasant experience for him, which was why Apollo was so grateful that it usually took a long time to get under the diva's skin. But not this time. This must have been a very important discussion to him, maybe even on par with band business. And that was always very, very serious. "My brother has made it clear to me that he is not having children, and we were the only sons of two only children. It was important to my parents that our surname continues to be passed onto blood descendants, and I would like to start my own family with you. I'm ready to take this gig platinum, Apollo. I've thought about this a lot, and I think we'd be good fathers."

"You don't know that," as soon as he said it, he knew that it had been the wrong thing to say. For someone who was naturally so perceptive, Apollo had an annoying habit of being an insensitive prick sometimes. Klavier bristled, obviously stung deeply by that comment, his teeth clenched together tight. He rose from his seat, hands down on the table as he leaned forward and sneered:

"_I_ would be a great father."

"Klavier. You have two full-time jobs, both of which keep you away from home for weeks at a time. When you go on tour, who's left with the baby?" Apollo asked, furious at the position he had been forced into. Was their whole relationship boiling down to these two warring ideologies? He didn't know if the other man could be with someone who refused to have biological children, but he knew for certain that if Klavier presented him with an ultimatum, he would walk out and never look back. This was not something he could compromise on. "This is a lifetime commitment we're talking about. You want to jump into this, but the fact is that _I'd _be the one giving up my career to take care of this little monster—"

"Now, hold on, Apollo—"

"—Because the only way that we're 'financially stable' and could afford all this is if _you're_ working. We wouldn't be able to go with you when you went on tour, so suddenly, I would be a single father—dealing with a newborn baby _all on my own_—for three months while you rock out with the boys? Absolutely. Not. Happening."

But Apollo didn't stop there, and he cut Klavier off again before the young man even had a chance to start. "And that crap about it being a crime not to? You have no idea whether or not we're genetically compatible. We have 'good genes?' Are you fucking retarded—?"

"You're not listening to me! Stop acting like—"

"Like _what_, Klavier?" he slammed his hands down on the counter, snapping out the question with such ferocity that the rock star had to pause. Apollo kept his head down and continued in a low, shaky voice. "Like you're asking me to fuck up some little kid's whole life because you think your parents would be disappointed if they never have any grandkids? I don't think so. I'm not doing that; nobody deserves to go through that."

Klavier was quiet for a long moment before he finally managed to speak again, both of them all too aware that any misstep could end this forever. "I. . . Apollo, you don't know that you'll be a terrible father."

"I have a serious medical condition, _or did you forget_?" he spat the last word out like it was poisonous, like the whole statement tasted foul and burned his tongue. Apollo scowled darkly. "My mother had it, my half-sister has it, and any kids I have will get it, too. You and Mr. Wright might joke and get a real kick out of it, but I'm not going to put anyone else through the pain of growing up with it. And don't try to feed me some bullshit line about Trucy coming out fine; Mr. Wright _used her_ for her sight so he could have a magic sidekick and cheat at cards. This is not a gift, Klavier: it is a crippling disease."

Another silent pause between them. Klavier looked at him helplessly, uncertain what to do with that kind of confession. Apollo sniffed a little, and tried to brush off how much it hurt to think back to all those nights wondering what was wrong with him, all those days spent in drugged stupors because doctors misdiagnosed it as a learning disorder. He remembered seizures and bloody noses, migraines so bad they made him black out and how hard it was finally repress it. He swallowed hard and shook his head as if to clear it.

"I cannot have children. I will not have children. End of discussion. You want a kid so bad, knock up a groupie or something, but leave me out of it."

". . .I don't. . ." when he looked over, he saw that Klavier was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, the other on his hip and his eyes up on the ceiling again. He seemed to be struggling with what he really wanted, or perhaps needed, to say.

And that was when it kicked in again, that awful perception of his. His bracelet felt tight around his wrist, time slowing and color fading from his vision. It was as though anything brighter, anything faster, would have overloaded his brain. As it was, Apollo could see very clearly in his black-and-white new world, his powerful gaze focusing on Klavier's throat and collar. The prosecutor was missing the top two buttons, the first having never been there and a few stray threads poking up from where the second should have gone to tell him that it had been lost or had fallen off earlier.

"I mean, it's okay that we can't have kids. . ."

Klavier swallowed hard here, a tremble at his mouth when Apollo dragged his eyes up. A lie. He was lying right now. It wasn't okay. It wasn't okay at all, and they both knew it. His gaze drifted up to the prosecutor's averted eyes. He seemed to be blinking more than normal, an unfamiliar crease surrounding them, probably having to do with the odd squint he had right now.

"Just answer one question for me. . ."

He was going to cry. That revelation seemed to snap Apollo out of his trance-like state, and he jerked back, his hand groping for the counter. He knocked the milk over, and his cup started rolling to the edge as he was stepping forward. Apollo reached the table quickly and wrapped his arms around Klavier just as the glass fell and hit the tiles, shattering on impact. The prosecutor hugged him back and cried into his shoulder. He didn't need to say anything else. Apollo was a very perceptive guy, after all.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, petting the blond's long hair gently. "I promise that I still love you, and I want to be with you even if we can't ever have that kind of family. God, I'm. . . I am so sorry, Klavier."


End file.
